The Abyss
by strawberry0909
Summary: In this one-shot, the Caped Crusader finds himself on the brink of surrendering to dark feelings of defeat.


**Hello again!**

 **In this 'Batman' one-shot, the big bad bat is quite sad – how's that for a rhyme? Seriously though, this is a dark story, dealing with depression, familial loss and suicidal thoughts. Should any of this trigger unwanted feelings in you, you might want to skip this one.**

 **The opening quote is taken from the song 'Abyss' by Nola, featured on her eponymous album. Give it a listen if you want to; it certainly helps setting the mood. The content of the letter is taken from the cinematic trailer to Warner Brothers' game 'Arkham Knight'. The words are obviously theirs, not mine, but I changed their order a little bit. I just** _ **had**_ **to use this in a story sooner or later, it wouldn't let go.**

 **Now, venture into the dark alleys of Bruce Wayne's psyche with me – if you dare.**

 **The Abyss**

 _Did you find what you were looking for in the abyss?_ **  
**-Nola

He could feel the cool, moist air reaching out to him from underneath the stony ledge he was standing on, grabbing at him with clammy hands. Staring into the darkness that he knew to be waiting right below his heavy boots, Batman took off his mask. His hands lowered slowly, but never hesitated as he watched the black, hollow-eyed shape descend down into the impenetrable blackness of the cave. Waiting for an impact never to be heard, he removed his cloak, sending it after his mask. It glided down elegantly, a giant black bird that had been shot to death and now dwindled towards its untimely demise. Bruce Wayne took a step towards the edge, loosening small stones in the process that announced their fall by clattering sounds, echoing through the cave.

"Master Bruce."

The addressed tilted his head slightly as he picked up the voice he had grown to hate. Alfred carefully made his way down the steps from the basement of Wayne Manor into the cave. His demeanor was starched as ever, the only rupture being his tense expression.

"I explicitly said no one is to come down here except me, Pennyworth. Positively no one."

With a pang of hateful satisfaction, Bruce noticed how Alfred's features distorted even more. For decades, nobody at Wayne Manor had called the butler by his last name. As Alfred's British breeding gained the upper hand over his posture again, he raised his voice.

"I have taken the liberty to prepare your dinner, Master Bruce. It is waiting at your favorite table, right next to the fire place in-"  
Bruce had turned back towards the edge again, interrupting Alfred harshly.

"And that's that. I won't be needing you anymore now."

Alfred swallowed, his lower lip quivering.

"Master Bruce..."

Bruce abruptly turned around and stepped into a beam of light descending from the cave's invisible ceiling. Alfred's lips tightened as he took in the many barely visible scars and painfully prominent cuts and bruises in his fosterling's face. He knew that Bruce's body was covered in these mementos of old and recent mistakes, these witnesses of a daily offered sacrifice to a city. When Alfred started to speak, he needed to remind himself of breathing and steadying his voice.

"I will be leaving you, Sir. But I will not let you stay here on your own."

He produced a letter from one of his pockets, the envelope slightly yellowed.

"I thought – hoped – that you never needed to read this, that you never needed to be reminded. You seemed too strong to ever find yourself in such a... state."

Noticing Bruce's darkening expression, Alfred continued in what he hoped to be a soothing manner.

"Let me just emphasize my persistent confidence and trust in you. I will leave the rest to an authority far higher than mine."

With that, Alfred left the envelope on one of the steps in front of him and ascended into the basement of Wayne Manor.

Following an inexplicable urge, Bruce drew closer towards the letter, having already recognized the envelope. It held his father's last will.

Bruce stepped back onto the ledge, opening the envelope without looking at it, shuffling through the familiar pages and sensing the characteristic scent of old paper. Then he stopped. Lifting his gaze from the darkness below him, he recognized two sheets of paper that somehow looked and felt fresher than the rest of the bundle. As if they had only been read once or twice at the most, definitely much less than the testament itself. Bruce took in the letters, unable to process their meaning at first.

 _Bruce,_

 _I ask that you honor the Wayne family legacy and commit yourself to the improvement of Gotham City – its institutions and its citizens. Please, be strong. You are young, but destined for great things. Make the most of your opportunities. Use them to give back to a city that has given us so much, to change the lives of millions of people. Do not be frivolous with this wealth. Please, do not waste it all on fast cars, and outrageous clothes, and the pursuit of a destructive life style. Invest in Gotham. Treat its people like family. Watch over them and use the money to safeguard them from forces beyond their control._

 _And finally, my son, I ask that you never abandon this city to fate._

 _My deepest regret is I will not see you grow into the good man I know you will become._

 _We have lived through dark days, and there is no doubt there are more to come. But it is the good and great men who stand up for Gotham when others turn and run._

 _In death, I will love you forever._

 _Your father,_

 _Thomas_

Bruce did not leave the ledge for another hour. Finally, he stepped back from the abyss, crossing through the already softened beams of light that lit the cave from outside. As he made his way up the stairs, he could see Alfred waiting for him at the heavily secured brass doors leading into Wayne Manor.

"Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Please arrange an immediate appointment with Mister Fox. We got a lot to talk about."


End file.
